It is sacred space, this special part of the diamond that measures 4 feet wide and 6 feet long.

Players think about the history every time they step into the batter’s box at Fenway Park. It is where the Babe dug in with his size-11 cleats. It is where Ted hit .406 in 1941. It is where Yaz launched the Impossible Dream a half-century ago and where Big Papi helped end a curse in 2004.

“It’s crazy,’’ said Red Sox rookie left fielder Andrew Benintendi. “There have been a lot of great lefthanded hitters, especially here. It’s cool to think about it.’’

The dirt in Fenway’s batter’s box is a recipe of clay and silt and sand meticulously groomed by head groundskeeper Dave Mellor and his staff.

“We have a blue gumbo clay in our batter’s and catcher’s box,’’ said Mellor, sounding like a chef in the French Quarter. “It packs well, and with moisture we can make it pliable so it’s not too hard on the players’ feet.’’

Dustin Pedroia knows that the batter’s box dirt at Fenway is a different formula from the infield dirt.

“Yeah, I notice it,’’ said Pedroia. “It depends on the weather. Every place has different dirt.’’

Designated hitter Hanley Ramirez likes the Fenway recipe.

“Here it is soft,’’ he said. “In Oakland, it was hard. I can’t dig in there because I use plastic spikes.’’

The grounds crew measures and paints the batter’s boxes in the morning and then touches them up with paint before the game. Home plate is spray-painted white. Mellor delicately mists the dirt ever so slightly just before game time, like Picasso finishing a painting.

By first pitch, everything has been groomed to be picture-perfect.

That lasts for one hitter. By the end of the game, the lines have disappeared and the box has been dug up.

“That’s just part of the game,’’ said Mellor.

Umpire Ted Barrett said the batter’s box at Fenway presents challenges.

“There is a lot of loose gravel there,’’ said Barrett. “There seems to be this fine, almost pebbly-type stuff at the plate. Every time a ball goes in the dirt, there’s dirt flying. You’ve got to be a good housekeeper.’’

He says the back line of the batter’s box is the first to be erased. That’s from guys looking for an extra millisecond to track a 98-mile-per-hour fastball.

Major League Baseball rules state that as long as part of the foot is touching the back line, it is legal.

“A lot of guys kind of kick it away,’’ said Barrett. “The way we enforce it is if any part of the foot is touching any part of the line, he’s OK.

“You’ll see some umpires, they’ll draw a line off to the side while the lines are still fresh because later, when the lines get erased, he’s got a reference point.’’

A postgame inspection occasionally yields surprises.

“Sometimes we will see the seams of a ball that’s hit down into the clay, the impression of a baseball with its seams,’’ said Mellor.

The grounds crew uses hand tamps, mallets, and vibratory plate compactors to restore the batter’s boxes to pristine condition.

“We want it to be firm, but still pliable for players’ cleats,’’ said Mellor. “We want it to be safe.’’

Barrett, who is an ordained minister, said the home plate area is special.

“I do feel it’s a spiritual place.’’ he said.

Before a recent game, the four umpires locked arms, bowed their heads and prayed.

“When we come out on the field, what we pray for specifically is for us to do our best,’’ said Barrett, who also has a doctorate in theology.

Added Mellor, “I think Fenway has its own aura, and certainly home plate adds to that aura.’’

Rhubarbs and routines

In the 105-year history of Fenway, hitters have faced more than a million pitches. In 1934, home plate was moved 10 feet closer to center field during a reconstruction of the park to allow for an extra row of box seats. Babe Ruth, in his final year as a Yankee, hit two homers from the current spot.

No one in baseball history has stood in a Fenway batter’s box more than Carl Yastrzemski, who dug in there nearly 7,000 times — and dug out only once.

In 1975, umpire Lou DiMuro called Yaz out on a third strike that Globe columnist Ray Fitzgerald wrote was “near Jamaica Plain.’’

Yaz didn’t say a word. He squatted down, covered home plate with dirt, then put his batting helmet atop it. Bill “Spaceman’’ Lee said it looked like a sand castle. Yaz was immediately ejected.

In 2000, Carl Everett went ballistic, twice bumping umpire Ronald Kulpa, who ruled that the Sox center fielder had one foot out of the batter’s box.

The saddest moment was in 1967, when Sox slugger Tony Conigliaro was beaned by a Jack Hamilton fastball and lay motionless in the batter’s box. Fenway Park went silent.

Mookie Betts said the weirdest part of being in the batter’s box is “seeing some balls coming up toward my head. No, you never get used to a ball coming at your head.’’

Betts doesn’t dig in at all with his size 10½-inch cleats.

“I don’t like digging in,’’ said Betts. “I like just standing on top of whatever is there.’’

Pedroia likes to smooth out the dirt.

“Some guys really like digging in.’’ he said. “I don’t like holes.’’

Xander Bogaerts has a batter’s box routine that is almost Nomar-like in its compulsion.

He adjusts his Velcro gloves, smooths out the plate several times with his cleats, taps his back foot with his bat, then taps both sides of the plate. Finally, he taps his front left toe and grabs the barrel of the bat. He says it reduces stress and gets him focused.

“I always tap my toes,’’ he said. “I never did this in Aruba. There I’d just get in and hit.’’

Red Sox hitting coach Chili Davis is amused by the way Red Sox players get comfortable in the box.

“Some guys go in there and it’s like they’re finishing a letter to ‘Dear Abby,’ ’’ he said with a laugh.

His philosophy for stepping into the batter’s box is simple: “Be ready to hit. Be ready to swing. Deciding to shut down is the only decision you need to make. If you’re not ready to swing, you’re not ready to hit.’’

Benintendi’s approach is similar to Bogaerts’s.

“When I get in the box, I try to do the same thing every time,’’ the rookie said. “I kind of go into the front of the box and kind of wipe it clean, smooth the dirt over, then I get my back foot position and dig it in a little bit. Then I always tap my bat on my toe. Then I’ll step out and take a swing and go from there.’’

Keep it simple

Hitting a fastball with a round bat from 60 feet 6 inches away is arguably the hardest thing to do in sports.

“I’d gladly fail 7 out of 10 times,’’ said Benintendi.

His focus is simple.

“I don’t really think about it. I just go up there and try to hit a ball hard. I don’t care where it goes, just hit it hard.’’

Victor Rodriguez, the Sox’ assistant hitting coach, subscribes to the “see it, hit it’’ philosophy. “They’re all good players,’’ he said. “They know how to do it. It’s about get back to basics.’’

“Always look for mistakes,’’ added Davis. “That’s what we hit. We hit mistakes.’’

Ramirez keeps things simple when he steps into the box.

“In the end, you cannot think,’’ he said. “Have a plan before you get into the batter’s box and when you go in there, that’s it. You’ve just got to stick with that plan and look for that pitch.’’

The Sox say they don’t use groundskeeping tricks, such as overwatering the batter’s box and basepaths to slow speedy teams.

“No, they don’t do that here,’’ said president of baseball operations Dave Dombrowski. “But I can say there’s places where that happens.’’

But erasing that line in the back of the batter’s box continues to this day.

“That’ll go on till the end of time,’’ said Sox third base coach Brian Butterfield.